The Dragon Patch
by Azzandra
Summary: A fic about Charlie's stay in Romania. What more is there to add?
1. Welcome to the Dragon Patch

The Dragon Patch had been one of the many reserves openned throughout the nineteenth century throughout the Carpathians. It was, at the time, one of the smallest, but due to an unfortunate series of incidents with Muggles, which resulted in the downsizing of many other reserves, it was currently the biggest one in the Romanian mountains. Granted, not the biggest in Europe, not even in the country, but it was, at least, the best.

Of course, the territory that was assigned to the reserve overlapped the Dragomir property. If only because of family pride (and there was much of that running around at the time), no member of said wizarding family would accept that their lands had the ideal conditions to not only hide dragons from prying eyes, but sustain them indefinitely.

Poaching was in full-swing at the time, threatening with extinction not only the fabled Romanian Longhorns, but breeds of dragons all over Europe. Anybody that went against poaching would later be revered and admired. Nobody assumed that it was out of the goodness of their hearts that Theodor Dragomir I and his wife "allowed" their property to be transformed into what it was today. In turn, they requested complete control over what went on. The family would be permanent overseers of the Dragon Patch. The Ministry eagerly agreed, if only to get the scandal over with. Besides, so long as the dragons lived there happily, there was no need to interfere.

The latest brood of the Dragomir family were not, however, pleased with this duty.

Charlie was about to discover this as he stood in front of the swinging sign that read "Pogonul Dragonului". The sheer amount of paperwork he had to go through just to be allowed to come near this place demanded he be happy. Because, given the fact that this was the last reserve in Romania to hold a number of near-extinct species, the Ministry seemed to want to hinder every attempt of getting close. Some achieved this by well-placed bribes (which, much like their Muggle counterparts, Romanian wizards in the Ministry of Magic were highly susceptible to); others, like Charlie, managed through sheer stubborness. He even slept in front of the Department of Magical Creatures' office door for two days before someone would see him.

He was now waiting on the edge of a dirt road, his suitcase and broomstick a few steps away while he rested on the grass.

"Weasley?"

Charlie jumped to his feet and snapped around, shocked that someone could have sneaked behind him like that. He tried to appear unstartled as he took in this new arrival.

The young man had dark hair and even darker skin-- no, that wasn't his skin, it was soot. He gave a crooked grin while looking over his shoulder, then extended his hand. Charlie shook it relunctantly, then wiped his own hand, now covered in sweat, soot and dirt. 'He could have at least washed his hands,' the red-haired wizard thought.

"Ah, Charlie Weasley. Nice to see you. Gather your things. We're running late," the unbathed stranger spoke feverishly while giving nervous glances over his shoulder.

"Excuse me?" Charlie muttered. He was quite wary of being dragged along by some stranger that looked as if he was wanted in several countries for a long list of fellonies. And he didn't have an accent, either (as, from what Charlie had picked up, the people running the place were Romanian). It suddenly seemed like a good idea to get his wand out.

"Listen, I'm Morgan. I was supposed to come pick you up two hours ago. If Amira finds out I haven't yet, she's going to have no trouble feeding me to the dragons tonight."

Charlie's hand had been slowly inching towards his wand. However, it only made sense that the superintendant would have sent someone else after him. She had to be a busy person, right? He was almost ready to go along, when Morgan took out a wand. Charlie reached after his own wand, but Morgan just aimed it at the luggage a few steps away and muttered "Wingardium Leviosa".

Charlie figured he ought to stop being so paranoid. Then, Morgan turned around and disappeared, leaving only shimmering air behind. Charlie stared dumbfounded as his luggage followed. He testily reached a hand and a prickling sensation ran through it as it disappeared in mid-air. Well, of course. A magical barrier.

'Weasley, you better stop being so paranoid,' Charlie thought as he followed Morgan.


	2. Dragomir

The superintendent of the Dragon Patch was Amira Dragomir, a frightening woman with draconine features, frozen in a perpetual scowl. The job had been more or less dropped on her, being the youngest and unmarried, and if she was feeling just a little resentment about this, her sadistic jackbooting of workers was the first hint.

Bitter though she was, Charlie had a feeling she was actually quite passionate about her job and dragons in particular. A string of events convinced him of that.

Three months had passed since he first stepped through the shimmering barrier. Morgan had showed him the ropes and explained his responsabilities, before Amira found out he'd been late about it and assigned him to shovel dragon dung for a week. Morgan had been lighthearted about the punishment. He'd winked and told Charlie his turn would come soon. Something about his attitude reminded the Weasley of Fred and George.

In three months, Charlie had: learned to wake up before dawn, shoveled dung with Morgan twice, been severely burned three times and spent a total of three weeks in a makeshift hospital for various injuries (burns, scratches and that one time he was seduced by a water fey and nearly drowned). He adjusted quickly and he could swear he heard Amira mumble one day under her breath that he wasn't completely useless (he found out that this statement was, more or less, her equivalent of a compliment).

Sometimes, the Ministry came and inspected the grounds. Uptight Ministry officials jutted things down on their scrolls. Sometimes they talked for Amira briefly and asked to visit the manor.

While the Dragomir household wasn't a manor per se, it was an imposing house just one hillside away from the camp. It seemed unfair that Charlie, Morgan and the other workhands had to sleep in shacks while such a big house stood unoccupied.

He found out later that the house wasn't exactely unoccupied, but Amira's grandmother lived there. After meeting the woman just once, he understood why Amira gave up the comfort of the house to live campside.

The old woman was scary.

It was mid-autumn when she visited for the first time. Morgan had warned Charlie to smother her with politeness. "Hopefully she'll choke on it," he'd added darkly.

Ariadne Dragomir was white-haired and wrinkly, as well as slightly hunched over. She looked as ancient as some of the dragons there and Morgan's theory was that she scared death away. Dressed in expensive red robes, she hobbled through the camp gates and scowled at a young volunteer that tried to help her.

Charlie had just gotten back from feeding the drakelings, so his clothes were full of dirt, soot and blood (he'd only seen it done once, so he had no idea that delivering a large dead deer to three little lizards could end with him being dragged all around the pen and effectively humiliated). Bumping into Mrs. Dragomir wasn't the smartest thing he could have done.

"Watch where you're going, boy!" she screeched in heavily-accented English.

"Sorry, ma'am," he said, slightly annoyed by her patronising tone.

"Not very smart, are you?" she scoffed.

Before Charlie could utter a reply or even realise how insulting the woman was, Amira's voice bellowed, "Weasley! Get your broomstick and fire-proof robes!"

And that was all Charlie needed to form an opinion about Amira's family.


	3. Missing

One problem that was often stressed to the point of lunacy was poaching.

The Dragon Patch had been created to deal with this problem and that it did. Poaching was much rarer these days and more easily prevented, but at times, Charlie felt his head was going to pop if he heard another word about it, not to mention listen through Amira's lectures and rules.

But while Amira's lectures were nearly bearable and made sense at times, Charlie found the rules intrusive and patronising.

For the first year, nobody was allowed to send out letters without checking them by the supervisors first. Apparently, many poachers tried to infiltrate the reserve and send their friends details about the way things worked. The first letter Charlie sent was just a week after he'd gotten there. The ones following that were shorter and sketchier, written half-heartedly, almost out of obligation.

While he received many letters from his family and absolutely ached to write back, his enthusiasm was cut down by the knowledge that someone else was going to poke through his letters and find out all these details about his personal life and his family. He considered magically coding his letters, for a time, but realised they'd probably figure it out and he'd be kicked out.

Charlie never really understood the insane amount of precautions at first.

---

Flavius Pallady was a middle-aged man with dusty brown hair and thick glasses. He had a stiff demeanour, he rarely smiled (and even then, it was in a distinctly eerie fashion) and he could always be found at Amira's side, either reciting the rulebook or making mental notes (he had a frighteningly good memory). But most of all, he creeped people out.

Flavius was Amira's second cousin several times removed and had been assigned as her advisor (or secretary, some would say) by Ariadne Dragomir. It was common knowledge that Flavius had his fair share of biases against Muggleborn wizards, if only because it had been instilled in him since birth.

Despite this, Flavius was integral to the workings of the Dragon Patch, mainly because of his knowledge of English, German, French, Russian and, to some extent, Ukrainian. This was part of the reason he creeped people out; no one was entitled to know so many languages. At any rate, in such a multi-cultural space, a person of his skill was necessary.

At times, Charlie had heard him be reffered to as "the bad omen." According to Morgan, when Flavius came to talk to you, it was either because you'd been blacklisted or because they're throwing you out.

So when the Weasley saw Mr. Pallady (as the workers were supposed to call him) purposely heading his way, he was filled with a sense of dread. For the shortest while, he wondered if they'd somehow found out he'd wanted to code his letters home, before realising how ridiculous that thought was.

"Weasley?" he asked with that dark, rumbling voice of his. Charlie nodded, feeling his stomach come up to his throat. "In Amira's office in fifteen minutes."

Then, Flavius turned on his heels and left.

Charlie just wanted to run in the opposite direction, but Morgan nudged him and gave him a reassuring wink.

"If he wanted to send you off, he'd have said so. Go on, it sounds important."

Charlie only nodded numbly.

---

After a few seconds in which Charlie and Amira stared at each other, each apparently intent on looking more sulky than the other, Flavius cleared his throat. Amira glared at him, but returned to look at Charlie.

"As you know, poaching is a serious issue for us," she started.

"Is this about my letters?" Charlie asked in spite of himself.

"What?" She raised an eyebrow. "No, it's about Marika."

"Marika the... dragon, ma'am?" Charlie's voice was full of dread. Marika was a Norwegian Ridgeback living on the mountains just outside his window. Charlie would often wake up in his decrepit shack, feeling sore and displeased, but one look out the window at Marika's nest, and he'd immediatly perk up, reminding himself that he was here because he loved dragons and that his job was perfect, after all.

Amira sighed.

"We counted her hatchlings this morning. There are only two." She seemed to get sulkier by the minute. "Last spring, we counted three eggs."

"Someone stole an egg?" Charlie asked, amazed. "But how? The security measures-- Marika guards her egg all the time-- she--" He stopped, at a loss for words.

"Last summer, Marika got sick," Amira mumbled, something akin to embarassment in her voice. "We had to drag her over here and keep her under supervision for the night. We left the eggs unattended for half an hour, because we were short-handed. I think... there was an inspection from the ministry at the time. One of them could have... stolen the egg."

"What!" Charlie asked again, this time nearly yelling, "They're the ones that're supposed to make sure the dragons are alright! Why would they steal an egg? What kind of Ministry of Magic do you people have here!"

Flavius glared. Amira scowled. Charlie realised that screaming at one's employers is rarely a good move, unless you plan to not have employers anymore.

"The reason you're here," Amira hissed, "is because we need someone to check the records at the Ministry and find out who was part of the inspection that month."

"Why don't yo go?" Charlie asked, now put off and feeling exhausted.

"Because we never have anything to deal with the Ministry and they'd find it suspicious if we went there and asked to see public records. They'd most likely refuse to show us anything. You, on the other hand, are the newest worker and foreign on top of that."

"Not to mention they've called you," Flavius added serenely.

"Called me?" Charlie dryswallowed.

"Called you," Amira nodded. "Something about an application you submitted that didn't quite go through."

"What do you mean, 'didn't go through'?"

"A loose owl ate it," she replied gruffly.

"Ah."


	4. Ministry Mornings

Charlie Weasley felt somewhat more at ease in the Romanian Ministry building than he had felt the last time he walked its halls. Of course, the last time he'd been running from door to door, begging for a chance to study dragons.

The Ministry workers had what Morgan called "Romanian work ethics", which meant a bunch of them went off and dropped all their work on the newest of the lot while they stuck to the simple stuff to justify their sallary. Charlie was fairly sure anywhere else in the world this would simply be called "lazyness". But as he descended to the lower floors of the building, he could see people walking with purpose, dilligently, obviously doing their job. He wondered if it was a coincidence that these people were older.

He couldn't, for the life of him, figure out what application hadn't gone through. He'd completed such a massive amount of paperwork that he wore down three quills, including his lucky one from Hogwarts.

The Weasley stopped in front of a room simply marked 108. This was where he was supposed to be. He knocked gently and received a gruff reply.

As soon as he openned the door he realised he hadn't heard a gruff reply, but the deeply displeased grunt of a wild boar. Said animal was sitting in a cage on the opposite side of the room, grinding its tusks against the bars in a visibly aggresive gesture.

An old man appeared from behind the desk and said something in Romanian. Charlie wasn't sure, seeing as he was barely learning the language and the man had a very garbled voice, but it might have been "Come in and close the door."

"Err, I was called here because they said..." Charlie stopped when it became apparent by the man's panicked face that he didn't know a drop of English.

He was quite used to it by now, so he came prepared. He pulled out a quill and asked, in a crude Romanian, for a piece of parchment. He was immediatly given one and the Weasley started scribbling down why he was there. He'd become an expert in translating charms, but only for writing. The kind used for speaking involved wards, continuously sustained spells and a lot of careful phrasing.

"Oh!" The old man rummaged through his desk and pulled out a familiar form- standard Ministry application.

"What is it for?" Charlie, indirectly, asked.

"Volunteer work with children from wizarding schools," the man wrote back.

He hardly remembered signing up for that, but then again, it might have been one of those obligatory clauses he needed to fulfill as a working hand on the Dragon Patch.

He filled it in and left soonafter. The man audibly sighed with relief after Charlie left.

---

He managed to strike up a fairly nice conversation with the receptionist about local endangered wildlife. He received an insightful, although acidic tirade about the dangers drakons faced in the wild. He was pretty sure she'd misheard him when he said he worked with dragons, not drakons.

Either way, she was nice enough to let him take a gander at the Ministry records and write down a few names. He was fairly happy to have noted those down, because by the time he walked through the barrier and saw Mr. Pallady standing there with his "Someone must get fired today" expression, Charlie was pretty sure he would have drawn a blank.

But nothing drastic happened and Charlie was free to return to work. In fact, nothing truly bothersome would happen for another week or so...


End file.
